


Got Me Walking Side to Side

by isaDanCurtisproduction



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of sex, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, 中文翻译 | Translation in Chinese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8767921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaDanCurtisproduction/pseuds/isaDanCurtisproduction
Summary: Peter is pissed. And in pain. And it's all Wade's fault. Well, Wade's dick's fault. But, still.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Recently someone contacted me on Tumblr about translating this fic into Chinese, and I thought that'd be an awesome idea. Thanks to chopchopsakurasushi on tumblr we have these two links to this fic in Chinese:
> 
> <http://luffysweetieursosexy.lofter.com/post/1d491e2c_ebd3c65>
> 
> and [www.mtslash.org/thread-226156-1-1.html](www.mtslash.org/thread-226156-1-1.html)

Peter groaned as he awoke, the light from his window seeming to burn into his retinas. He rolled, trying to escape the sun's glare, but found that any sort of movement of his lower back sent a sharp zing if pain racing up his spine and down his legs. He groaned louder and slapped sloppily at the warm body that was pressed against his back.

"Whaaa?" Wade moaned, his voice coming out muffled as his mouth was wedged under Peter's shoulder.

"This is your fault," Peter said, or tried to say. It actually came out as more of a croak. He gave a little cough, cleared his throat and started again. "I blame you entirely. This all your fault."

"Hmmm," Wade agreed, "pro'ly."

"Have you no shame?" Peter moaned, and tried to awkwardly shuffle out from the comforting heat of his boyfriend's body without twisting his hips too much. It wasn't really working, little tingles of pain zapping him every time he moved.

"No shame," Wade repeated mindlessly, and then he seemed to rouse himself a little bit. "Wait, what did I do?"

Peter grimaced, now faced with actually having to say it out loud.

"What!" Wade repeated, sounding even more awake.

Peter turned to stick his tongue out at his boyfriend. "You were too rough last night."

"Oh," Wade said, sounding relieved, "Is that all?" He snuggled back into the cocoon of their shared bed.

"Is that all!?" Peter scoffed, and finally got close enough to the edge of the bed to swing his feet to the ground and sit up. Which he did with a groan. "How am I supposed to go to work today when I can barely walk?"

"You weren't complaining last night," Wade mumbled into his pillow.

"I'll give _you_ something to complain about," Peter muttered and tried to get to his feet. He got about halfway up, going slow, before a sharp sting sent him crashing backwards onto the bed. 

"See?" Wade asked. "The bed doesn't want you to leave, and your body doesn't want to leave the bed. Stay home."

Peter glared at his boyfriend and then tried to once more get to his feet. Which he achieved because he was fucking talented, alright?

"Like I'm ever going to go along with another one of _your_ plans again, Wade. Ow!" He rubbed at the small of his back.

"Like I said, you weren't complaining last night."

"Well I’m complaining now, dipshit."

"The girl in the Kama Sutra could do it!" Wade defended himself. "And you're more flexible than that boring chick!"

"Ok, first?" Peter said, gathering his clothes for the day, getting ready to step into the shower, and hoping the hot water would help his aches and pains. "I'm not a girl. Our...down-there parts are different. Second, I _am_ flexible, you're right. But she's not even a real person. She's an _illustration_. Third, don't argue with me, I'm in pain."

"I'm in pain too," Wade said, "you're a pain in my ass."

"You get to say nothing!" Peter stepped into their ensuite bathroom. "You are a _literal_ pain in my ass. Your dick has pained my ass! And my back, and my legs, and my hips!" And with that Peter slammed closed the bathroom door.

The shower helped a little. It was soothing, and it made some of his stiffest muscles relax with the onslaught of hot water. It let Peter feel like he could at least walk like a human being and not hunched over like a crone, waiting to offer hot princesses poisonous apples.

When Peter exited the shower, he found that Wade had made an I'm-Sorry breakfast of bacon, scrambled eggs, pancakes, and sausages, with a side of But-I'm-not-the-only-one-at-fault orange juice, and a But-I-really-am-sorry bowl of strawberries. Not a bad breakfast, even if sitting down to eat it caused Peter to wince.

"Are you going to be ok at work today?" Wade asked, and then stole one of Peter's But-I-really-am-sorry strawberries and popped it into his mouth.

Peter threw his spoon at Wade's head. Wade dodged it, which Peter thought wasn’t fair at all. “I’ll be fine," Peter grumped. "I'll just make sure to stay at my desk."

Peter never even got to his desk.

He _did_ get to the lobby of Stark Industries, but was waylaid by a visibly quivering Tony in the elevator.

"What happened to you?" Peter asked, as he stepped in beside his trembling boss, slightly put-off by the manic smile.

"Thirteen cups of coffee," Tony admitted. "But that's unimportant."

"Is it?" Peter asked. "I don't think I agree."

"My labs, J," Tony said, ignoring Peter, and the elevator started moving downward.

"Why _your_ labs?" Peter asked. 

Tony waggled his eyebrows.

"Nooooo," Peter whined. "I have things to do. Bruce gave me....plants to...investigate."

Tony scoffed. "Who taught you to lie, young padawan? 'Cause they should give you a refund."

Peter grumbled but didn't have time to respond before the elevator doors slid open. Peter followed Tony into a large concrete space, full of vintage cars and parts of robots.

"Today," Tony exclaimed, "you're going to help me with the engine of my ‘66 corvette."

"But," Peter said slowly, "I know nothing about cars?"

"You don't sound so sure about that."

"I know nothing about cars," Peter said again, sounding more confident.

"Got that backbone, I see. Now get under that car. I need you beneath it updating me on it’s state while I fiddle with the engine."

Peter groaned.

"What?" Tony said. "You're younger than me. If I get on my back I might fuck it up. My back, I mean. I'm but an old man."

"Liar," Peter muttered, but lowered himself onto the creeper without further complaint. He groaned when he achieved full horizontal existence. 

"Now you sound like _me_." Tony looked impressed. "What did you do to fuck up _your_ back?"

"Wade," Peter grunted as he rolled himself beneath the car.

There was an ominous silence and Peter could see only the underbelly of the corvette, so couldn't look at Tony's expression.

"What do you mean Deadpool fucked up your back?" Tony sounded deadly. "Has he been hurting you?"

Peter grinned. "I mean... technically.”

Tony squawked. 

"Not like that," Peter quickly amended. "Have you heard that song? Side to side? It's like that." There was silence from Tony. "I just mean that he... _fucked up my back_. Almost literally." There was a pause where Tony seemed to digest this.

"Please tell me that Wilson was not literally dicking you in your back."

"I mean, no, it was in the--"

"Wait!" Tony interrupted. "It occurs to me that I shouldn't be talking to my intern, a boy more than thirty years my junior, about his sex life. Also I really don't want to know this. Like, at all."

Peter frowned at the corvette's chassis. "You asked."

"Well now I'm un-asking. And for future reference, no matter _what_ I say, I don't _actually_ want to hear about what you and that merc get up to on your own time."

"Can I go home?" Peter asked abruptly. "My back really is hurting me, and I think I can bribe Wade into giving me a massage and watching the Prisoner of Azkaban with me."

For a moment Peter thought Tony might actually let him leave, but then, with a sigh, Tony said, "No. I might have thought about giving you the day off, but then you said 'bribe' and I’m pretty sure that means 'sex' which I explicitly just told you to never mention to me ever again. So this is punishment."

"Please?" Peter whined.

"No," Tony said. "Now I'm going to need you to tell me if you can see any rust. Not that I'd let this little lady get rusty, but I have to be sure, you know?"

Tony kept Peter under the car for hours, which Peter was sure was slowly destroying his back further, but at least he took pity on Peter (or at least got fed up with Peter's whining) and let Peter leave a few hours early.

Peter left SI at a shamble. He was moving slow, one hand pressed against the small of his back, trying to reposition his walking stance into one that didn't ache. He had yet to find one.

And then a tingling that had nothing to do with Wade's penis ran up his back and he cursed. "I'm too tired for this," Peter muttered to himself and took a sharp turn to an alley. It took him twice as long as it should have to strip out of his day clothes revealing his Spiderman suit, and pull on his mask.

He let out a low growl as he shot a web at the corner of the roof above him and pulled himself up. Every twist sent an ache through his much abused body and he really would have rather been doing anything but playing an amateur contortionist.

But no. There, another zing of his Spidey sense, and Peter landed on a roof only to head off at a run when he picked up a muffled yell.

Peter swung between skyscrapers, and he honestly regretted not absolutely adoring the feeling of weightlessness as he flew above the city, the beauty of the spires and gables of the metropolis against the cerulean sky, but it was just pain.

And then Peter dropped down to see the source of the yell. A bank. Well, the bank wasn't the one yelling. Banks don't yell. But the yelling was coming from _inside_ surrounding the bank, and that only really meant one thing: a robbery. With _hostages_.

Peter landed on the roof of the bank, winced as the landing jostled him, causing him pain, and then forced himself to straighten up and put on his game face. In this case, his game face was white-lipped and grimacing.

And then, with the sound like an angel falling from heaven and crashing into a bank roof, there came a thud from behind him.

Peter whipped around. And then he cursed himself because _ow_. 

"Wade?" Peter questioned incredulously.

Wade was picking himself up. He looked mostly uninjured from the fall. He was, however, a little dusty.

"What's shakin', side-of-bacon?"

Peter frowned. "That wasn't even an endearment. You just called me a side order of bacon. Did you pull that from an IHOP menu?"

Wade whistled. "I guess you're still aching if you're being this pissy."

Peter crossed his arms and did not apologize.

Wade let out a melodramatically put-upon sigh. "Which is why I'm _here_ , pookie."

Another scream came from inside the building and Peter made a hurry-up motion with his hand. "Wade, you know I love you, but could you hurry? Or tell me this _probably very important_ thing later?" He pointed at the roof below their feet. "Hostages."

Wade rolled his eyes. Well, Peter couldn't be positive because Wade was wearing his Deadpool mask, but honestly, he knew Wade well enough to read an eye-roll in the stance of his shoulders. "I know. I was listening to the police scanner and when I heard about this here stick-up I just knew you'd be rushing in to save the day."

"And?" Peter was pushing impatient, verging towards annoyed.

"And I know you're probably still hurting from the dicking I gave you last night."

Peter shuddered. "Ew. Please never use that phrase ever again."

" _So_ ," Wade continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "I came to play Spiderman. Or, well, good-guy-Deadpool. That way you can go home and rest. ABC Family is having a Harry Potter marathon. Again. And I bought you Chicken and Cheese Enchilada soup. Go relax while I take care of business. Deadpool style." He cracked his knuckles.

Peter's ire morphed into love.

(With Wade it always seemed that that was happening. Or the opposite. Love into ire)

"Really? Are you sure you can handle it?" 

Wade stepped forward to bump his nose against Peter's. As close to a kiss they could do while both wearing masks. "I'll be fine, babes. I won't even kill nobody or nuffin'." He drew a cross across his heart.

Peter sagged. "Thank you. You have no idea--"

Another scream from inside cut him off.

"Go, Spidey-poo," Wade urged, already running for the roof-access door. "I got this!"

Peter smiled at his lover's retreating back and began to make his way back to their apartment. Slowly. Taking the scenic route. Because still _ow_.

And Wade hadn’t been lying. When Peter got home there was soup waiting for him and the apartment’s coziest blanket, the one Wade usually claimed, waiting for him on the sofa in front of the tv. And really, who could ask for more?

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an [ask](http://isadancurtisproduction.tumblr.com/post/154102316568/preface-this-is-probably-going-to-be-the-worst) someone sent me on my [tumblr](http://isadancurtisproduction.tumblr.com/)


End file.
